“Aromatic ingredients go first,” he says like the know-it-all he is.

I splash him with the sink hose.

Pedro raises his hands in defense, the tips of his bangs dripping. Next thing I know, he splashes me with water, too. We laugh, both drenched. I think it’s the first time we’ve ever laughed together. And it feels...right.

But then I spot my cake on the counter.

I never thought I could feel so resentful about a recipe. No wonder Mom’s been avoiding it, too. Only Grandma knew the amount of Parmesan cheese that goes in the batter.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was crying about a cake, when you and your family went through a lot this morning. Is Seu Romário okay?” Pedro averts his eyes like he’d rather not talk about this. “I shouldn’t have brought him up—”

“No. It’s okay. He’ll be fine. It was his blood pressure,” Pedro explains. “Mom and Grandpa were talking about Sugar, and he got upset. It’s this whole Deals Deals thing. But thank you for your help this morning.”

“Let me know whenever you guys need to borrow mom’s car again,” I say.

Pedro looks a bit surprised, but he smiles. “Thank you.”

I’m about to hop off the counter, but there’s water everywhere, and I nearly slip again.

“Be careful!” he says, placing both hands on my waist to help me down. My hands grip his shoulders. And the moment we make eye contact, it’s like we both realize how close we are. I feel like I just collided with the sun.

Pedro steps away from me, looking flustered. “I need to get back to Sugar soon. I should start packing up.”

My heart sounds like a samba school.

“I’ll help,” I mumble. I’m grabbing a plate of corn cake while Pedro carries the bolo de rolo to the fridge, when I slip on leftover egg yolk still on the floor and come crashing into him. Pedro tries to catch me, and both of our trays upend onto each other. We fall together, trying to keep the trays safe.

“Oh God! I’m so sorry!” I reach for a dish rag dangling from the stove.

Pedro reaches for the same rag.

And the moment his fingers wrap around mine, the world stops.

I should pull back, but I don’t want to break the physical contact between us. Warmth spreads under my skin, the same glow I got when he was showing me how to knead bread. He leans closer. And I’m leaning in, too. Our mouths nearly touching, I feel heat traveling from his lips.

And then a flash of doubt crosses his face. A little feverish exhale escapes his mouth when he turns away from me.

What just—what just happened?